About 'Georgie' and me

It is common knowledge there are two kinds of tears, good ones and bad ones. This week I'm writing about two times I had the "good" kind.

Big state academic news recently was the retirement of Doctor George Dennison from the presidency of the University of Montana, a very challenging job which he carried out in magnificent style for over 20 years. Under his sure-handed guidance, the school has grown in national prominence across many areas of scholarship, research and general excellence.

The personal highlight for me was the Home Coming Banquet of 2006, when President Dennison presented me with the coveted U of M Distinguished Alumni Award. During a short acceptance speech, I nostalgically referred to the highly admired, dignified and respected "Doctor George Dennison" as "Georgie." There was an instance of shocked silence in the large audience of alumni and University faculty ... then ripples of glee and applause. Nobody in that crowd had ever heard anyone call him "Georgie" before.

Finished the speech, fighting a tear in my voice. I was deeply touched by the unexpected personal recognition and honor, but perhaps more by my pride in a little boy I remembered from long, long ago.

Now for that other tear time. Reporters who spend years gathering news for the public develop a kind of insulating shell to tolerate the bad things they see, investigate and report. That's why I was surprised on May 29, 1990, when I got choked up reading an item "hot off the wire." It was one of few upbeat stories on the radio that day, so why the tear?

While reading that news, my mind flashed back to the remote log school house of my grade school days where for years I was the only one in my grade. The average class maybe had two students and until my fifth grade, all were in the same one room. We were hard-rock miners' kids, usually wearing home-repaired shoes and hand-me-down clothes. Nobody was missing meals at the Flathead Mine in the late 30s and early 40s, but there was no one up there eating high on the hog. We led modest, but fun, and mostly carefree lives while helping each other, because that was the best way to get by and have friends in an isolated place.

At any school, there is always a kid or two who has difficulty making friends, and there are also those who get along with everyone. Little "Georgie" was the latter kind. He started to school when I was in about the seventh grade. He had to wear glasses, had dimples and grinned a lot. In spite of his quite ways, the kid had no trouble taking care of himself in school ground rough housing. Besides that, he had backing, an older brother and a batch of little brothers.

As I recall those childhood days, none of us at the Flathead Mine seriously thought Georgie, or me or any of the other miners' kids would go to college. The commonly accepted goal for laboring folks was to get through the eighth grade and, hopefully, high school. I don't remember any talk about PSAT tests or IQs 60 years ago.

While broadcasting the UM news of May 29, 1990, it was only natural for memories of Georgie and his brothers, and me and my brothers, coming to mind. We were just kids then, building snow forts and coasting down Powder House hill. We played baseball with a taped ball on the only flat place around. Third base was a pine tree.

"Georgie" and I had both been down some long tough roads in those intervening 45 years since last seeing each other. Two of the brothers we each had in those days at the mine were gone.

At high noon on May 29, 1990, on "Montana's most powerful radio station," I proudly read these words, "Doctor George Dennison, Provost at Western Michigan University, today accepted the offer of the State Board of Regents to become the next President of the University of Montana."

And that's why moisture came to my eyes ... those two times.

G. George Ostrom is a national award-winning Hungry Horse News columnist. He lives in Kalispell.